Tribe of Five
by Saint H
Summary: Joey, Izzy, Mal, Garth and me, out of the spandex. Don't be dumb, get in on this! And forget about Capn' Traffic-Lite! Nobody likes him! The only reason he gets that hot alien tail is because she doesn't know better! Roy/Speedy perspective
1. Rooftop Blast

Robin would have thrown a fit.

But then again, what _doesn't_ Robin throw a fit over? That's the real question.

The five of us sat up on the top of the nameless building on the urban skyline, completely out of costume… though in Joey's case there literally was no difference between work and business clothes. One of the reason's why everyone always recognizes the semi-famous 'Jericho'.

The radio played on in the background, something about 'Heaven beside you' spurting out between the static white noise.

None of we off-hours superheroes really cared that the station was no longer coming in, we were all a little… _preoccupied_ with our current situation.

"Hey, Injun! Puff puff pass! That's the rule!"

I breathe in deep from the pipe, and the smoke starts to make its angry self at home in my throat.

I hold it in as long as I can before its my-throat-raping antics cause me to cough, hard. Sure sign of a good hit.

I look over at Isaiah, or Hot Spot as he's known to the public, "Ch-" I haven't quite got my voice back as I swallow nothing involuntarily, "Chillax, Izzy. It'll get to ya."

I hand off the pipe to Malcolm, Herald, and he smiles wide, "Yeah Hot-shit, Roy's good for it, you know that."

From across the way, Joey smiles and nods his blonde head in a puppet-esque fashion. Like someone were moving strings attached to his neck.

I smile broad, _way _broad, and laugh at the thought.

No, not laugh, giggle. And as I giggle all the stress melts away and a wave of warm… perception flows over me and I find something that I thought I lost a long time ago.

Peace, tranquility… serenity.

In a moment that seems instantaneous Malcolm and Izzy have already passed the pipe to the mute Joey across from me who, like the pro he is, inhales long and deep. We all stare, greatly entertained by how long he's holding his hit.

After what seems like ages the smoke slowly rolls out of Joey's mouth. Maybe after having a knife rip your throat open at age five, the itchy burning of weed smoke in your scarred esophagus isn't much of a bother. Especially after you consider the pay-off.

Joey's bloodshot eyes roll slowly over to the fifth member of our party, but wait.

Shit dude… Joey's eyes… they're fucking swimming. They have to be, I've never seen anything move more fluid.

I wonder if Joey possesses somebody while high if that person gets the high.

Better question. If he leaves, are they then both high, or does one of them lose it?

As I sit there and stare off into space, deep in thought over these questions of Zen worthy status, Garth, the Atlantian prince known as Aqualad, takes the pipe.

He puts it to his lips, lights it and, like the true amateur he is, coughs after a few seconds and doesn't stop for about a half minute. Though to Malcolm and Joey who're watching him it seems like forever. How do I know this? How don't you? Stupid Cunt-scum! Get outta my soliloquy!

"Guys…" Garth says in that spaced-out, droning voice of someone stoned hard, "This is fuckin'… deep."

I hear his voice like a far off echo, and my body is numbly warm… and way beneath me. My mind is switched off and I'm flying farther than any arrow I've ever shot. I'm so high the clouds are nervous.

"Whoa!" Mal says in a voice full of childish wonder, "You're eyes are bloodshot, Gills!"

"Hehehe!" Garth shakes his head, "So what dude?! So are yours!"

My thoughts go back, back, back… and I drift on an air current as I think about ebony hair framing a cat mask… and the green eyes behind that mask. A bed with silk sheets, some kinky Asian tricks I can't even describe, and long metal claws… covered in blood. My blood.

_God that woman could fuck._

Malcolm squeals high pitched and points at the Atlantian's black eyes, "Yeah, but they're purple veins instead of red!"

Suddenly I'm back on the roof, and as the faint traces of Malcolm's comment reach my ears, I turn and look. And yes, the edges of Garth's black eyes are littered with small, spider-webbing purple veins.

I can't even describe to you how long and hard we all laughed. I can't even describe to you how deep the laughter was. I can't even describe to you euphoric buzz.

We were so damn happy, we forgot all about the pipe. And trust me, that's _epic_ level stoned.

And then we see it, the sun set.

We five, we brothers, sit there and watch the sight through the opened doors of perception.

And while people the city over see the sight and wonder at it, we are a part of it.

We take it in, we inhale the pinks and the oranges and the lavenders. We merge with the sun and it's warmth fuses with us and everything is…

One.

…

After the sun dips over the horizon and the moon and stars come out to play, someone thinks to switch the dial on the radio. After what was either a really short or a really long time, a ska beat comes into tune, and we all groove on it as we lie on our backs and stare up into the night sky.

We leave our bodies behind, and chill out up on the ambling clouds, made a funky blue tint by the starlight.


	2. Stealthy

"Dude, you're not."

"Dude, shut up."

"That's not gonna fit inside your coat."

"Yes it is, bitch-face. Now quit talking 'bout it before somebody notices."

"Like they won't notice the fucking, huge-ass 'wet-floor' cone underneath your small ass jacket."

I turned to Izzy, "Dude, shut up! They're not gonna stop me! They'll just look at me funny and before they think to do anything I'll be long gone."

Izzy just stared, "Man. What the fuck."

"Your face, that's what the fuck."

He looked around the bathroom, nervous, "I though you and Capn' Traffic were, like, super spies or whatever."

I stared at him while trying to cover up as much of the cone with my jacket as possible, "Hey, just cuz Bird-Dick and me are straight up human don't think we're the same. He's an uptight-BruceLee-masturbating-tool of an anti-poon."

Izzy smiled, "Ya, and what're you?"

"BAMF. The sexiest stud with the grooviest bud. The Magic Man with the Magic Hands…. And your real daddy. Surprise son!"

"No, that's all the other black kids."

"Racist."

Izzy rolled his eyes and laughed.

"Seriously," I straightfaced as the cone half-fell out of jacket, "Just because you're black doesn't mean you can't be racist. Think about Clayton Bigsby. He was hardcore racist."

"He's also a fictional character made by Dave Chappell."

"Your mom's a sexual character laid by Dave Chappell."

"That doesn't even make sense."

"Balls in your mouth."

Izzy just shook his head and opened up the door, checking to make sure no one was interested in using the McDonald's male bathroom. After a quick visual sweep he turned back to me, "Dude, what are you even going to do with that? Why the fuck would you want it?"

"Why wouldn't I want it?"

"Because it serves absolutely no purpose."

"It serves the purpose of being a hilarious story later on. I dunno, maybe something I could write a story about and put it on the internet."

"Only an idiot would do that, Roy."

**_…_**

"Alright," I collected myself, "I think I got it."

Izzy gave a single, empty laugh, "You've got to be kiddin', man. That is a huge bulge. They will see that and they will stop you and then we'll have to explain to the news stations why teenage superheroes were caught in pointless-petty-theft. There's no way I'm letting you out of this bathroom."

"Bitch." My foot met his groin. His knees met the tile. I walked out of the McDonald's bathroom and right out the front door.

No one stopped me, although I did get quite a few funny looks.

The wet floor cone looks great in Beast Boy's room…. And people wonder where all the weird shit in his pad comes from.


	3. Escape Pod Code: Menstration

You never notice until you actually try it, but banging your head on hard surfaces and/or objects is a very… shit, whats the word I'm thinking of. Gills would know. But I can't ask him right now, now can I?

Intrusive. Intrinsic, In… In… shit… None of those are even close to it.

Involving? Is that a word? Involving… hell. Is now bitch.

Anyway, slamming my head into the Titan's meeting table is very involving. I've gone so far as to even have a little rhythm going. You might think it's funny, but you'd do the same thing to escape the boredom.

"Uh, Speedy."

**Bam, bam, bam_, _**_do the dance now, _**bam, bam, bam-**

"Speedy!"

I rolled my head up, "What?"

Robin stared at me, standing in a very gay pose at the head of the table, "We're trying to have a debriefing, maybe you could join us, or at least not distract us."

I cocked a brow, "And maybe you could quit posing for Playboy."

Robin looked down. He gulped slightly, took his hand off his tilted hip, stood up straight, and returned to pointing at some glowing screen with a long metal thingy.

Instead of paying any attention at all to whateverthehell Capn' Traffic-Lite was talking about, I decided to look around the room at all the assorted abnormalities, asexuals and assholes that were my roommates: the Titans.

Ever since we all moved in together I have thought only one thing consistently at the beginning of every morning: fuck consolidation.

Cyborg and Beast Boy were looking at Robin with more or less interest. Starfire was trying to get a glimpse of his ass from around his cape.

Mmmm… hot alien cleavage…

Huh? Whatsat? Oh, Spooky Tits is staring me down. She alway has creeped me out. Staring at people, reading books and slitting her wrists all the time and shit.

Still… she's pretty hot underneath that cloak. Not a 10 or anything. But definitely beyond hump-able.

Or as Izzy would say, boink-able. Speaking of...

"Hey, Izzy."

"Ya?" Izzy, all decked out in his Hot Spot uniform, leaned over to me. I noticed the other three perked up and glanced towards us. Not too hard considering we all sat together. In a weird ass place like a Titan's Meeting, you've got to stick with those you know you can trust, other wise you might end up with a bo staff up your ass… or worse: having to stay in the Tower on off hours where your only source of entertainment is tofu, meat-soda and another installment in the saga of couch-potato-guided-erotic-digitized-bloodshed... in high definition.

"This shit is gay."

"Well no duh, man. It's always gay."

Joey nodded to my left.

"Isn't there anyway we can get out of here?"

Izzy shrugged.

"Mass bathroom break?" Garth tried and failed to whisper nonchalantly.

"We could always taste the rainbow." Mal managed to do what Garth could not.

His words clicking in my head I glanced down quickly to his hand underneath the table. He flashed his hand open to reveal a delicious selection of multi-colored capsules that usually require quite an impressive doctor's note.

"Skittles…" I grinned up at Mal.

Izzy's nose wrinkled, "Listen to _Sublime_ man, we don't want plastic. Besides, you can't be poppin' pills in a debriefing."

I rolled my eyes, "I hate it when you're a bitch and right, Izzy."

He smirked.

"Don't smile, man, think! We still need a way out." I hissed at him.

Joey tapped the table by a notepad. We all looked.

'_We could do what we always do and say we're on the rag. That ALWAYS works.'_

We busted up. We couldn't help it. Who could?

Robin's caped whooshed as he executed a flawless gay-twirl-of-self-appointed-authority, "If you can't conduct yourselves in a manner fitting the seriousness of this debriefing, you may excuse yourselves."

We did just that.


	4. Fire in the Dancehall

"Allright guys, what first?" Mal said, fingering the valves on his trumpet.

Joey shrugged as he absentmindedly riffed.

"Beats me." I twirled a stick in one hand and tapped the bass drum pedal impatiently.

Izzy grabbed the mic and purred, "_**Well hey guuuyyzz. I think we should start this one off real smooth and… jazzy."**_

We laughed.

"Sounds good to me."

"It would, Mal."

"Oh, like you know, Gills."

I tapped on the rim, anxious, "No dice, try again Iz."

"_**This a Nitty Beat!"**_

Three voices in unison, "No."

"_**BOING!"**_

"We said NO, in case you didn't hear." Mal grinned, leaning against the wall.

"How about that first one from Washed Up and through the Ringer?" Garth spoke up.

We all turned.

…

"Good call, Gills." I smirked, stepping on the high-hat and gripping my sticks.

Everyone shuffled amidst the cables, papers, empty cans and extension cords.

One deep breath.

I counted off four clicks: and we brought the noise.

"_**No Right Turn! No Left Turn! No U-turn-Its my Turn Now!"**_

...

_I don't really remember how it started._ I remember the first practice, but not really how the idea got brought up for us all to play together.

We all knew that we wanted to play music, and it was fairly obvious what position we would all play.

I've always raped the drums and Izzy has a natural set of pipes. Joey has always made everyone but Hendrix, Santana and Stevie Ray jealous on the guitar and Mal played his instrument as a way of life. Pretty much the only person who didn't have an instrument already was Garth, which made him perfect for bass.

Really the only question there ever was was what type of music to play.

We all had a respectable variety of musical tastes (except Gills).

Izzy was a fan of rap and rock and even a surprising amount of country. Living in a suburb will do that to you.

Isolated on a mountain top Joey had listened to and appreciated and could play pretty much any kind of music known to man and otherwise… but he's always had a soft spot for easy-listening acoustic and vaguely folkish alterna-rock.

Mal was and is and will always be the jazzy-bluesy-funky guy in his soul. Naturally he stuck to genres that made use of his instrument… not too many brass sections in death metal.

Besides his weird Atlantian show-tunes (which really sounded more like a mix of Gregorian chanting and whale-sex-noises than Vaudeville) Garth had grown a serious obsession with weird-screechy-syncopated No Wave and sickeningly-sweet bubble-gum-pop…. So yeah, Gregorian chanting and whale sex noises.

And me, well, _to_ brag, but I was something of the musical swiss-army-knife. I was the one who introduced the group (except Mal, he's been around the scene (and just all-together around) longer than I have, I just broadened his horizons) to the live music scene. From techno to hardcore to punk to skate to Oi to rap to jazz to slam poets and beatboxing open mics and everything main-stream and off-the-radar, I was there.

Besides the fact that I'd always enjoyed music, there were two real reasons for my eclectic knowledge of all things musical:

One: As a heroine addict, you need an environment that will stimulate your senses in all kinds of sexy, dirty ways.

Two: As a recovering heroine addict, you need something awesome to keep your mind off doing heroine.

So, I did what anyone in my situation would do. I looked at the types of people we had and came to a decision: Symphonically-Orchestrated-Heavy-Metal-Boy-Band.

….

Just kidding. Can you say, ska-band?

It had everything. Horns, guitar, bass, drums and vocals and the genre was flexible enough (going from nearly straight up reggae to out-of-your-apartment rap to punch-you-in-the-face punk and back to easy listening) to suit all our different tastes.

...

_I finished_ the song with a vicious fill and crashing cymbals.

"_**Alright guys!"**_ Izzy said, breathing hard. He had found his groove, just like the rest of us, _**"Lets get some VGS! WegotthaFIRE! FIRE! FIRE!"**_

Joey fell with a heavy-punk-riff, and we all followed suit, Mal doing audio-loops with his horn.

...

_Opinions on the band were varied_. Cyborg thought it was an awesome idea. Beast Boy and Starfire were both in complete awe of us, thought at least Starfire had a good excuse. Raven, as usual, hated everything and would've gotten more fun out of burning ponies. The other Titans all gave various levels of approval or amusement (Argent specifically seemed pumped up every time we played anything by Streetlight Manifesto) except, of course, for Robin. He thought it was inappropriate for protectors of the city to be wasting valuable time and the trust of the citizens on something as frivolous as a crappy garage band.

I'm pretty sure he was just afraid Starfire would wind up as a groupie.

Either way, the rude-kids, Goths, postproto-punks and the normal kids who just liked live music all thought we were bad ass…

…Or good….

….well, they didn't hate us anyway, and there was usually dancing. So we'll take that as a good sign.

...

"_OK, that's enough, _Joey." Mal smiled as the mute twisted and spasmed on the ground while finishing the song with an improvised, incoherent, Sex Pistols-esque solo.

He whipped his head up, blond hair flicking beads of sweat. He smiled loony at the rest of us and got to his feet, pantomiming something about a bukkake-love-fest.

"Dudes! Listen!" I yelled over the audio-din of a winding-down-jam-session-on-anabolic-steroids, "Give It Up!"

Joey made an exaggerated look-o-confusion and pointed at Gills.

It clicks, "No, man. Pepper's Give It Up, not Reel Big Fish's Give It Up."

He nodded with a grin and hit the first chord hard, Iz didn't miss the beat, _**"It's been awhile since I've seen your face-…."**_

...

_But past it all we know one thing. That no matter if its reggae or rap or rock or blu-groove-skunkcore, when the music hits you, you feel no pain._

...

"**- ….Why don't you have some dirty, hot sex wi'me. It ain't like I'm askin' you to giveitup.. for free-hee-"**

...

_And in a world when every day life can knock you down and drag you out (not to mention weird-ass monsters and, worse, crazy-ass people), you need something like that. Don't punch me with problems, slam me with solutions. Brutalize me with music._

...

"**-…. Ple-ee-ease, Ple-ee-ease, Please me-e."**

…

…

"Oh jeeze, I think I just creamed my jeans, guys."

"HAH!"

Something falls in the background. All smiles.

"Heh heh heh…the hell, man."


	5. Sex Gills

Awkward.

So. Fucking. Awkward.

Seriously, whatthehell! He did this, fuckin' Bird-Dick did this because of the debriefing.

Stupid punk. That was funny. This? This was war.

"Speedy." Her weird-ass man-voice rasped at me, "Concentrate on the moment at hand."

I looked up and saw her staring right at me. It was like giving a corpse a rimjob… just so damn wrong.

Raven, I seriously hate her. Hardcore.

The fact that she's hot doesn't even begin to outweigh the facts that: she's creepy, spooky and altogether kooky. She says she _can't feel emotion _and then goes around PMSing twenty-four seven. She is sarcastic at all times, even when someone who cares about her is trying to be nice, she's a straight up bitch. All this is cemented by the fact that her daddy is a demon trying to take over the world, oh boo-hoo. If she ever does acid she'll find out what hell _really_ is. Now, to her credit, she doesn't ever whine about the whole Spawn-o-Satan thing, but it's there and its her excuse nonetheless.

She should take a lesson from Starfire! The girl grew up in war and coup de tats every weekend with genocides every second Sunday. Then she got sold out as a sex slave by her parents to bring peace to her planet, busted out and made her home on a different planet, only to be called back to once again become a sex slave for some green glob of goo to save her people, and ends up having to fight her murderous slut of a sister… and she's the least cynical person I've ever met! She's straight up giddy to wake up every morning and the only thing she wants is to be with us (and to get into Robin's tights, but I won't go into that, I've digressed enough as it is).

Anyway, back to Spooky Tits, besides the fact that I don't like her as a person, I don't like her personally either.

She's condescending. She's frigid. She's elitist. She's dramatic while viciously defending her claim that she isn't. She's never wrong. She's dead-wrong half the time. She's anti-social and then feels bad about feeling anti-social (and then everyone tries to get me to feel sorry for her about it). She only has sarcasm and no other forms of humor in her. And mostly I don't like her because she

Straight

Up

Hates

My ass.

… But don't try and tell her that because she'll tell you how wrong you are because she can't feel emotion… and she'll be very emotive and violent while telling you all about this.

The only upside to this situation was the fact that it eventually had to end sooner than later, and I was pulling for the former. But I wasn't just leaving it up to fate. Oh no, not with something this important. I pulled out the big guns. She says she doesn't feel emotion, I was gonna prove her wrong and I was gonna use it to escape.

Now, where was Gills? He had said he'd be here about now.

I looked over, Raven was still staring me down, I had to do something, "Take a picture, it'll last longer."

Her eyes narrowed, "That's only detracting from it's desirability."

Bitch, thinks I don't understand complex words, "Because I'm still clothed, right? We can fix that, y'know."

She stared me down, telling me to stop there.

Shit-if-I-will.

I returned her Glare-O-Doom with a fake-sexy-leer, "I'll show you mine if you show me yours."

_BLXX!_

I cussed as she blasted me across the… dude. What is this place. Some kinda crime scene. I'm not really sure, I'm still feeling the presence from the Skittles Mal and I had earlier.

Oh no, I know what you're thinking. You're thinking I'm a bad hero for being high on the job! Look dude, this job that Robin stuck me to, doesn't matter. There are no clues the police could find, and if Robin had deemed this a source of enough potential to be significant to the case, he would've come himself. Furthermore proving that he just sent me here with Raven to be a dick.

…

Yeah, that whole thought process while high. Thank you.

I climbed up out of the wreckage, "That's assault."

"And before it was sexual harassment."

"Two wrongs don't make a right." I groaned, "Besides, you started it by undressing me with your eyes."

I had a feeling she was about to blow up on me again whenever the bait walked into the room.

Gills… the Garth-ster: Aqualad… my savior.

Raven's attention immediately turned towards him. And while her reaction wasn't nearly as pronounced as most women's, it was still noticeable. Her eyes bulged, she slouched as her body went all a-quiver. You know, swooning.

And man, Gills was cheesing it up, may whatever Fish-Gods he prays to bless him, he was strutting. And I mean he was **_strutting_**. Like Saturday Night Fever strutting… on ecstasy.

He looked away from us in a slow, Baywatch style glance, and then turned back towards Raven with a glorious hairflip-o-metrosexuality.

She was mud in his hands.

He smiled.

I wasn't quite sure because her cloak hid her movements, but from a series of odd twitches, I think Raven may have orgasmed at that exact moment.

He strutted over to her and began a conversation. It was at this point that I high-tailed it for the door. I busted out of the crime scene, ran a few blocks, changed in a back-alley, and went to Denny's because I wanted some god-damn PANCAKES SON!

…

Thanks Gills, I owe you one. Your gay strut saved the day…

…

Seriously though, he looked gay as hell.

…

…

…Sooo gay.

* * *

_Sorry about not updating yesterday. It happens whenever you're high._

_Hope you had a bona fide badass 420... I know I did._

_Good Night._


End file.
